


Dune: Paul’s Women, Chapter 4

by Wodric



Series: Dune: Paul’s Women [3]
Category: Dune (1984), Dune - All Media Types, Dune Series - Frank Herbert, Frank Herbert's Dune (2000)
Genre: Brother-Sister Relationships, F/M, Incest, Masturbation, Mother-Son Relationship, Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 06:38:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7089283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wodric/pseuds/Wodric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chapter’s summary:</p><p>Paul talks to the mentat Thufir Hawat and trains is combat skills with Gurney Halleck. The juvenile Alia and her wet-nurse Iphigenia return to Castle Caladan were Paul and Jessica are waiting for them. Paul visits his sister’s quarters and sees her falling asleep after Iphigenia breastfeed her. Later Alia goes to his room taunting him. The night ends when they see a man making love with their mother.</p><p>See chapter 3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/7089232<br/>See chapter 5: http://archiveofourown.org/works/7090942</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dune: Paul’s Women, Chapter 4

Paul’s Women

Book One: DUNE

Chapter 4

You have read that Muad’Dib had no playmates his own age on Caladan. The dangers were too great. But Muad’Dib did have wonderful companion-teachers. There was Gurney Halleck, the troubadourwarrior. You will sing some of Gurney’s songs, as you read along in this book. There was Thufir Hawat, the old Mentat Master of Assassins, who struck fear even into the heart of the Padishah Emperor. There were Duncan Idaho, the Swordmaster of the Ginaz; Dr. Wellington Yueh, a name black in treachery but right in knowledge; the Lady Jessica, who guided her son in the Bene Gesserit Way, and – of course – the Duke Leto, whose qualities as a father have long been overlooked.

\- from "A Child’s History of Muad’Dib" by the Princess Irulan

 

Thufir Hawat slipped into the training room of Castle Caladan, closed the door softly. He stood there a moment, feeling old and tired and storm-leathered. His left leg ached where it had been slashed once in the service of the Old Duke.

Three generations of them now, he thought.

He stared across the big room bright with the light of noon pouring through the skylights, saw the boy seated with back to the door, intent on papers and charts spread across an ell table.

How many times must I tell that lad never to settle himself with his back to a door? Hawat cleared his throat.

Paul remained bent over his studies.

A cloud shadow passed over the skylights. Again, Hawat cleared his throat.

Paul straightened, spoke without turning: "I know. I’m sitting with my back to a door."

Hawat suppressed a smile, strode across the room.

Paul looked up at the grizzled old man who stopped at a corner of the table. Hawat’s eyes were two pools of alertness in a dark and deeply seamed face.

"I heard you coming down the hall," Paul said. "And I heard you open the door."

"The sounds I make could be imitated."

"I’d know the difference."

He might at that, Hawat thought. That witch-mother of his is giving him the deep training, certainly. I wonder what her precious school thinks of that? Maybe that’s why they sent the old Proctor here – to whip our dear Lady Jessica into line.

Hawat pulled up a chair across from Paul, sat down facing the door. He did it pointedly, leaned back and studied the room. It struck him as an odd place suddenly, a stranger-place with most of its hardware already gone off to Arrakis. A training table remained, and a fenc-ing mirror with its crystal prisms quiescent, the target dummy beside it patched and padded, looking like an ancient foot soldier maimed and battered in the wars.

There stand I, Hawat thought.

"Thufir, what’re you thinking?" Paul asked.

Hawat looked at the boy. "I was thinking we’ll all be out of here soon and likely never see the place again."

"Does that make you sad?"

"Sad? Nonsense! Parting with friends is a sadness. A place is only a place." He glanced at the charts on the table. "And Arrakis is just another place."

"Did my father send you up to test me?"

Hawat scowled – the boy had such observing ways about him. He nodded. "You’re thinking it’d have been nicer if he’d come up himself, but you must know how busy he is. He’ll be along later."

"I’ve been studying about the storms on Arrakis."

"The storms. I see."

"They sound pretty bad."

"That’s too cautious a word: bad. Those storms build up across six or seven thousand kilometers of flatlands, feed on anything that can give them a push – coriolis force, other storms, anything that has an ounce of energy in it. They can blow up to seven hundred kilometers an hour, loaded with everything loose that’s in their way – sand, dust, everything. They can eat flesh off bones and etch the bones to slivers."

"Why don’t they have weather control?"

"Arrakis has special problems, costs are higher, and there’d be maintenance and the like. The Guild wants a dreadful high price for satellite control and your father’s House isn’t one of the big rich ones, lad. You know that."

"Have you ever seen the Fremen?"

The lad’s mind is darting all over today, Hawat thought.

"Like as not I have seen them," he said. "There’s little to tell them from the folk of the graben and sink. They all wear those great flowing robes. And they stink to heaven in any closed space. It’s from those suits they wear – call them ’stillsuits’ – that reclaim the body’s own water."

Paul swallowed, suddenly aware of the moisture in his mouth, remembering a dream of thirst. That people could want so for water they had to recycle their body moisture struck him with a feeling of desolation. "Water’s precious there," he said.

Hawat nodded, thinking: Perhaps I’m doing it, getting across to him the importance of this planet as an enemy. It’s madness to go in there without that caution in our minds.

Paul looked up at the skylight, aware that it had begun to rain. He saw the spreading wetness on the gray meta-glass. "Water," he said.

"You’ll learn a great concern for water," Hawat said. "As the Duke’s son you’ll never want for it, but you’ll see the pressures of thirst all around you."

Paul wet his lips with his tongue, thinking back to the day a week ago and the ordeal with the Reverend Mother. She, too, had said something about water starvation.

"You’ll learn about the funeral plains," she’d said, "about the wilderness that is empty, the wasteland where nothing lives except the spice and the sandworms. You’ll stain your eyepits to reduce the sun glare. Shelter will mean a hollow out of the wind and hidden from view.

You’ll ride upon your own two feet without ’thopter or groundcar or mount."

And Paul had been caught more by her tone – singsong and wavering – than by her words.

"When you live upon Arrakis," she had said, "khala, the land is empty. The moons will be your friends, the sun your enemy."

Paul had sensed his mother come up beside him away from her post guarding the door.

She had looked at the Reverend Mother and asked: "Do you see no hope. Your Reverence?"

"Not for the father." And the wise woman had waved Jessica to silence, looked down at Paul. "Grave this on your memory, lad: A world is supported by four things . . . " She held up four big-knuckled fingers. ". . . the learning of the wise, the justice of the great, the prayers of the righteous and the valor of the brave. But all of these are as nothing . . . " She closed her fingers into a fist. ". . . without a ruler who knows the art of ruling. Make that the science of your tradition!"

A week had passed since that day with the Reverend Mother. Her words were only now beginning to come into full register. Now, sitting in the training room with Thufir Hawat, Paul felt a sharp pang of fear. He looked across at the Mentat’s puzzled frown.

"Where were you woolgathering that time?" Hawat asked.

"Did you meet the Reverend Mother?"

"That Truthsayer witch from the Imperium?" Hawat’s eyes quickened with interest. "I met her."

"She..." Paul hesitated, found that he couldn’t tell Hawat about the ordeal. The inhibitions went deep.

"Yes? What did she?"

Paul took two deep breaths. "She said a thing." He closed his eyes, calling up the words, and when he spoke his voice unconsciously took on some of the wise woman’s tone: " ’You, Paul Atreides, descendant of kings, son of a Duke, you must learn to rule. It’s something none of your ancestors learned.’" Paul opened his eyes, said: "That made me angry and I said my father rules an entire planet. And she said, ’He’s losing it.’ And I said my father was getting a richer planet. And she said. ’He’ll lose that one, too.’ And I wanted to run and warn my father, but she said he’d already been warned – by you, by Mother, by many people."

"True enough," Hawat muttered.

"Then why’re we going?" Paul demanded.

"Because the Emperor ordered it. And because there’s hope in spite of what that witch-spy said. What else spouted from this ancient fountain of wisdom?"

Paul looked down at his right hand clenched into a fist beneath the table. Slowly, he willed the muscles to relax. She put some kind of hold on me, he thought. How?

"She asked me to tell her what it is to rule," Paul said. "And I said that one commands. And she said I had some unlearning to do."

She hit a mark there right enough, Hawat thought. He nodded for Paul to continue.

"She said a ruler must learn to persuade and not to compel. She said he must lay the best coffee hearth to attract the finest men."

"How’d she figure your father attracted men like Duncan and Gurney?" Hawat asked.

Paul shrugged. "Then she said a good ruler has to learn his world’s language, that it’s different for every world. And I thought she meant they didn’t speak Galach on Arrakis, but she said that wasn’t it at all. She said she meant the language of the rocks and growing things, the language you don’t hear just with your ears. And I said that’s what Dr. Yueh calls the Mystery of Life."

Hawat chuckled. "How’d that sit with her?"

"I think she got mad. She said the mystery of life isn’t a problem to solve, but a reality to experience. So I quoted the First Law of Mentat at her: ’A process cannot be understood by stopping it. Understanding must move with the flow of the process, must join it and flow with it.’ That seemed to satisfy her."

He seems to be getting over it, Hawat thought, but that old witch frightened him. Why did she do it?

"Thufir," Paul said, "will Arrakis be as bad as she said?"

"Nothing could be that bad," Hawat said and forced a smile. "Take those Fremen, for example, the renegade people of the desert. By first-approximation analysis, I can tell you there’re many, many more of them than the Imperium suspects. People live there, lad: a great many people, and..." Hawat put a sinewy finger beside his eye. ". . . they hate Harkonnens with a bloody passion. You must not breathe a word of this, lad. I tell you only as your father’s helper."

"My father has told me of Salusa Secundus," Paul said. "Do you know, Thufir, it sounds much like Arrakis... perhaps not quite as bad, but much like it."

"We do not really know of Salusa Secundus today," Hawat said. "Only what it was like long ago... mostly. But what is known – you’re right on that score."

"Will the Fremen help us?"

"It’s a possibility." Hawat stood up. "I leave today for Arrakis. Meanwhile, you take care of yourself for an old man who’s fond of you, heh? Come around here like the good lad and sit facing the door.

It’s not that I think there’s any danger in the castle; it’s just a habit I want you to form."  
Paul got to his feet, moved around the table. "You’re going today?"

"Today it is, and you’ll be following tomorrow. Next time we meet it’ll be on the soil of your new world." He gripped Paul’s right arm at the bicep. "Keep your knife arm free, heh? And your shield at full charge." He released the arm, patted Paul’s shoulder, whirled and strode quickly to the door.

"Thufir! "Paul called.

Hawat turned, standing in the open doorway.

"Don’t sit with your back to any doors," Paul said.

A grin spread across the seamed old face. "That I won’t, lad. Depend on it." And he was gone, shutting the door softly behind.

Paul sat down where Hawat had been, straightened the papers. One more day here, he thought. He looked around the room. We’re leaving. The idea of departure was suddenly more real to him than it had ever been before. He recalled another thing the wise woman had said about a world being the sum of many things – the people, the dirt, the growing things, the moons, the tides, the suns – the unknown sum called nature, a vague summation without any sense of the now. And he wondered: What is the now?

The door across from Paul banged open and an ugly lump of a man lurched through it preceded by a handful of weapons.

"Well, Gurney Halleck," Paul called, "are you the new weapons master?"

Halleck kicked the door shut with one heel. "You’d rather I came to play games, I know," he said. He glanced abound the room, noting that Hawat’s men already had been over it, checking, making it safe for a duke’s heir. The subtle code signs were all around.

Paul watched the rolling, ugly man set himself back in motion, veer toward the training table with the load of weapons, saw the nine-string baliset slung over Gurney’s shoulder with the multipick woven through the strings near the head of the fingerboard.

Halleck dropped the weapons on the exercise table, lined them up – the rapiers, the bodkins, the kindjals, the slow-pellet stunners, the shield belts. The inkvine scar along his jawline writhed as he turned, casting a smile across the room.

"So you don’t even have a good morning for me, you young imp," Halleck said. "And what barb did you sink in old Hawat? He passed me in the hall like a man running to his enemy’s funeral."

Paul grinned. Of all his father’s men, he liked Gurney Halleck best, knew the man’s moods and deviltry, his humors, and thought of him more as a friend than as a hired sword.

Halleck swung the baliset off his shoulder, began tuning it. "If y’ won’t talk, y’ won’t," he said.

Paul stood, advanced across the room, calling out: "Well, Gurney, do we come prepared for music when it’s fighting time?"

"So it’s sass for our elders today," Halleck said. He tried a chord on the instrument, nodded.

"Where’s Duncan Idaho?" Paul asked. "Isn’t he supposed to be teaching me weaponry?"

"Duncan’s gone to lead the second wave onto Arrakis," Halleck said. "All you have left is poor Gurney who’s fresh out of fight and spoiling for music." He struck another chord, listened to it, smiled. "And it was decided in council that you being such a poor fighter we’d best teach you the music trade so’s you won’t waste your life entire."

"Maybe you’d better sing me a lay then," Paul said. "I want to be sure how not to do it."

"Ah-h-h, hah!" Gurney laughed, and he swung into "Galacian Girls." his multipick a blur over the strings as he sang:

"Oh-h-h, the Galacian girls  
Will do it for pearls,  
And the Arrakeen for water!  
But if you desire dames  
Like consuming flames,  
Try a Caladanin daughter!"

"Not bad for such a poor hand with the pick," Paul said, "but if my mother heard you singing a bawdy like that in the castle, she’d have your ears on the outer wall for decoration."

Gurney pulled at his left ear. "Poor decoration, too, they having been bruised so much listening at keyholes while a young lad I know practiced some strange ditties on his baliset."

"So you’ve forgotten what it’s like to find sand in your bed," Paul said. He pulled a shield belt from the table, buckled it fast around his waist. "Then, let’s fight!"

Halleck’s eyes went wide in mock surprise. "So! It was your wicked hand did that deed!  
Guard yourself today, young master – guard yourself." He grabbed up a rapier, laced the air with it.

"I’m a hellfiend out for revenge!"

Paul lifted the companion rapier, bent it in his hands, stood in the aguile, one foot forward.

He let his manner go solemn in a comic imitation of Dr. Yueh.

"What a dolt my father sends me for weaponry," Paul intoned. "This doltish Gurney Halleck has forgotten the first lesson for a fighting man armed and shielded." Paul snapped the force button at his waist, felt the crinkled-skin tingling of the defensive field at his forehead and down his back, heard external sounds take on characteristic shield-filtered flatness. "In shield fighting, one moves fast on defense, slow on attack," Paul said. "Attack has the sole purpose of tricking the opponent into a misstep, setting him up for the attack sinister. The shield turns the fast blow, admits the slow kindjal!"  
Paul snapped up the rapier, feinted fast and whipped it back for a slow thrust timed to enter a shield’s mindless defenses.

Halleck watched the action, turned at the last minute to let the blunted blade pass his chest.

"Speed, excellent," he said. "But you were wide open for an underhanded counter with a slip-tip."

Paul stepped back, chagrined.

"I should whap your backside for such carelessness," Halleck said. He lifted a naked kindjal from the table and held it up. "This in the hand of an enemy can let out your life’s blood! You’re an apt pupil, none better, but I’ve warned you that not even in play do you let a man inside your guard with death in his hand."

"I guess I’m not in the mood for it today," Paul said.

"Mood?" Halleck’s voice betrayed his outrage even through the shield’s filtering. "What has mood to do with it? You fight when the necessity arises – no matter the mood! Mood’s a thing for cattle or making love or playing the baliset. It’s not for fighting."

"I’m sorry, Gurney."

"You’re not sorry enough!"

Halleck activated his own shield, crouched with kindjal outthrust in left hand, the rapier poised high in his right. "Now I say guard yourself for true!" He leaped high to one side, then forward, pressing a furious attack.

Paul fell back, parrying. He felt the field crackling as shield edges touched and repelled each other, sensed the electric tingling of the contact along his skin. What’s gotten into Gurney? he asked himself. He’s not faking this! Paul moved his left hand, dropped his bodkin into his palm from its wrist sheath.

"You see a need for an extra blade, eh?" Halleck grunted.

Is this betrayal? Paul wondered. Surely not Gurney!

Around the room they fought – thrust and parry, feint and counterfeint. The air within their shield bubbles grew stale from the demands on it that the slow interchange along barrier edges could not replenish. With each new shield contact, the smell of ozone grew stronger.

Paul continued to back, but now he directed his retreat toward the exercise table. If I can turn him beside the table, I’ll show him a trick, Paul thought. One more step, Gurney.

Halleck took the step.

Paul directed a parry downward, turned, saw Halleck’s rapier catch against the table’s edge. Paul flung himself aside, thrust high with rapier and came in across Halleck’s neckline with the bodkin. He stopped the blade an inch from the jugular.

"Is this what you seek?" Paul whispered.

"Look down, lad," Gurney panted.

Paul obeyed, saw Halleck’s kindjal thrust under the table’s edge, the tip almost touching Paul’s groin.

"We’d have joined each other in death," Halleck said. "But I’ll admit you fought some better when pressed to it. You seemed to get the mood." And he grinned wolfishly, the inkvine scar rippling along his jaw.

"The way you came at me," Paul said. "Would you really have drawn my blood?"

Halleck withdrew the kindjal, straightened. "If you’d fought one whit beneath your abilities.

I’d have scratched you a good one, a scar you’d remember. I’ll not have my favorite pupil fall to the first Harkonnen tramp who happens along."

Paul deactivated his shield, leaned on the table to catch his breath. "I deserved that, Gurney.

But it would’ve angered my father if you’d hurt me. I’ll not have you punished for my failing."

"As to that," Halleck said, "it was my failing, too. And you needn’t worry about a training scar or two.

You’re lucky you have so few. As to your father – the Duke’d punish me only if I failed to make a first-class fighting man out of you. And I’d have been failing there if I hadn’t explained the fallacy in this mood thing you’ve suddenly developed."

Paul straightened, slipped his bodkin back into its wrist sheath.

"It’s not exactly play we do here," Halleck said.

Paul nodded. He felt a sense of wonder at the uncharacteristic seriousness in Halleck’s manner, the sobering intensity. He looked at the beet-colored inkvine scar on the man’s jaw, remembering the story of how it had been put there by Beast Rabban in a Harkonnen slave pit on Giedi Prime. And Paul felt a sudden shame that he had doubted Halleck even for an instant. It occurred to Paul, then, that the making of Halleck’s scar had been accompanied by pain – a pain as intense, perhaps, as that inflicted by a Reverend Mother. He thrust this thought aside; it chilled their world.

"I guess I did hope for some play today," Paul said. "Things are so serious around here lately."

Halleck turned away to hide his emotions. Something burned in his eyes. There was pain in him – like a blister, all that was left of some lost yesterday that Time had pruned off him.

How soon this child must assume his manhood, Halleck thought. How soon he must read that form within his mind, that contract of brutal caution, to enter the necessary fact on the necessary line:

"Please list your next of kin."

Halleck spoke without turning: "I sensed the play in you, lad, and I’d like nothing better than to join in it. But this no longer can be play. Tomorrow we go to Arrakis. Arrakis is real.

The Harkonnens are real."

Paul touched his forehead with his rapier blade held vertical.

Halleck turned, saw the salute and acknowledged it with a nod. He gestured to the practice dummy.

"Now, we’ll work on your timing. Let me see you catch that thing sinister. I’ll control it from over here where I can have a full view of the action. And I warn you I’ll be trying new counters today.

There’s a warning you’d not get from a real enemy."

Paul stretched up on his toes to relieve his muscles. He felt solemn with the sudden realization that his life had become filled with swift changes. He crossed to the dummy, slapped the switch on its chest with his rapier tip and felt the defensive field forcing his blade away.

"En garde!" Halleck called, and the dummy pressed the attack.

Paul activated his shield, parried and countered.

Halleck watched as he manipulated the controls. His mind seemed to be in two parts: one alert to the needs of the training fight, and the other wandering in fly-buzz.

I’m the well-trained fruit tree, he thought. Full of well-trained feelings and abilities and all of them grafted onto me – all bearing for someone else to pick.

For some reason, he recalled his younger sister, her elfin face so clear in his mind. But she was dead now – in a pleasure house for Harkonnen troops. She had loved pansies... or was it daisies? He couldn’t remember. It bothered him that he couldn’t remember.

Paul countered a slow swing of the dummy, brought up his left hand entretisser.

That clever little devil! Halleck thought, intent now on Paul’s interweaving hand motions.

He’s been practicing and studying on his own. That’s not Duncan’s style, and it’s certainly nothing I’ve taught him.

This thought only added to Halleck’s sadness. I’m infected by mood, he thought. And he began to wonder about Paul, if the boy ever listened fearfully to his pillow throbbing in the night.

"If wishes were fishes we’d all cast nets," he murmured.

It was his mother’s expression and he always used it when he felt the blackness of tomorrow on him.

Then he thought what an odd expression that was to be taking to a planet that had never known seas or fishes.

***

Alia would return to the castle in the next day. Her mother had decided to send her to the Summer Palace during the Reverend Mother’s visit.

She had found the Summer Palace empty. Almost all the furniture had already been packed to be transported by the Guild to the planet Arrakis. Besides she had travelled only with a handful of guards and with her wet-nurse, Iphigenia.

The summer Palace was empty and boring.

Boring. Boring. Boring!

There was nobody there. She even had missed her mother’s lessons.

She had also missed her annoying older brother. He was just three years older but he taught that he new all! Bah! He didn’t!

He didn’t knew nothing! Besides, like her mother, he didn’t understood her.

The only person that sometimes understood her was her nanny, her wet-nurse. Not that she needed her anymore. She also didn’t have much milk. But Iphigenia was a good listener. Iphigenia could listen hear her talk for hours and really understand her without criticizing.

Besides she had explained many things to her that her mother never had. Interesting things… things about men.

One day, after a training session with Ducan Idaho, she even asked him to show her something, but the swordmaster just blushed and leaved, yelling with her and saying something to talk to her mother.

Her brother also wasn’t much informative. Alia had the suspicion that he just didn’t answer to her because he didn’t know how.

But Iphigenia would. The thing is that Iphigenia was not a man…

Her mother and Paul were waiting for her in the castle main gates. The ornithopter landed in the platform and she run to her brother jumping to his arms.

“Paul! Mother! I am so glad to be back!”

She jumped from one to another, covering their faces with wet kisses and kisses. Embraced them and presented them with many hugs.

The Summer Palace was so boring that she was happy to be back to the castle. Besides she still wanted to convince her mother to leave with them to Arrakis. The idea to be left behind in Caladan was unbearable.

Behind her Iphigenia begun to remove the bags from ornithopter with the help of two young servants.

“Mother, have you talked to father, so I can go with you to Arrakis?”

“Lower your tone, Alia. Our enemies have spies everywhere!”

Alia laughed, throwing her head back. “We are in Caladan, mother!”

“But we may have spies among us. So keep your tone low.”

“Yes, sis. Let us go inside, so we can talk freely.” Paul looked at his sister, wondering why she was always provoking someone. 

Alia smiled at Paul. It was a juvenile cheerful smile. She agreed with a head movement. He had always been the older serious brother that had the ability to bring her back to reason and calm her down. They had come out from the same Bene Gesserit breeding program, and there was a strong bond between them. She was the Atreides daughter that the sisterhood wanted to educate and mate with an Harkonnen. That was why Jessica was always so secretive and overprotective. The Emperor, the Harkonnen, the Bene Gesseric could not know of her existence.

Jessica went back into the palace, hand to hand with her daughter, while Alia told her animatedly all the boring details of her stay in the Summer Palace.

Paul approached Iphigenia and embraced her giving a peck in her pretty face. She had also been her wet nurse.

“How were the things in the Palace?” asked.

“You know your sister… she was bored… and when she is bored, we all are bored” Iphigenia smiled and shrugs. “It is good to see you again, Paul. I missed you.” Iphigenia made a small caress in his face before picking the bags.

***

Before dinner Paul went to his sister’s quarters. He had missed her juvenile inconsequent behavior, her constant happy laugh and her annoyed comments.

As always there were guards on the main corridor, but unless summoned they forbidden to enter in the private chambers. Usually only Iphigenia entered there.

He knocked before entering the dressing room, crossed it, when he heard a sound in the bedroom. In that moment he hesitated.

“Alia!?”

With a couple of steps he reached the bedroom. Iphigenia had herd his call and looked up to meet his eyes. She was reclined in the bed, leaned against a pile of pillows. She still wore the long dark green dress that was almost a uniform for her. One of the dress straps was lowered exposing her ample engorged breast. Laid in her lap was Alia suckling it like e little toddler.

Iphigenia raised a hand to cradle Alia’s head, cuddled her murmuring soft words. When she looked again to Paul her index finger was in front of her lips to tell him to be quiet. Her sister was already asleep.

The image was tender. And Paul for a moment had a twinge of envy and wanted to be in the place of her sister.

***

Later in the night Paul was already in his room analyzing a filmbook about Arrakis. He had laid down in the bed, thinking more in the recent events, his kissing experience and in the Reverend Mother, that in the filmbook that he already had seen twice.

Alia entered his room to awaken him with laughter and teasing. She was beautiful like their mother, and had a long silky reddish hair and a soft skin. She wore a short white dress that covered her until the knees and was bare feet. Shrieking, she would always run into the Paul’s room and playfully throw herself over his warm bed. She would tease him, fondle him, and would begun ticklish or a pillow war.

Paul was used to her attacks, he had always enjoyed them. His sister was so much playful and had a certain joyful innocence that he had never reached.

But in that day, after his daydreams about the Reverend Mother, she threw over him, and over his slightly prominent manhood, which the large pants somewhat concealed.

He tried to push her away, but she tough that it was another war. They fought. She did not mind how her skirt flew upward and her slender legs got tangled and fell over his penis lying straight in the pants. Laughing, she turned over on him, sat on him, treated him like a horse that she never had seen, sat astride him and pushed down on him, urging him to swing the bed by a motion of his body. With all this, she kissed him, pull at his hair, and had childish conversations.

When she was lying on her stomach, all he had to do was to move a little against her to fondle his pleasure. So he did this playfully, as if he meant to finally push her off the bed.

“Now you will fall” he said.

“No. I won’t fall off” said Alia, holding on to him through the covers while he moved as if he would force her to roll over the side of the bed. Laughing, he pushed her body up, but she lay close to him, her slim legs, her little panties, everything, rubbing against him in her effort to climb above him, to win, and he continued his pending movement while they both laughed.

His penis, hidden in the pants, rose over and over again between her legs,

“Paul!”

He stopped. She had felt his protuberant male member.

“What is that?” with only a movement she escaped his squeeze and in a quick motion, full of curiosity, she pulled down his pants to stand before his male member aroused. Her laugh was childish, but her eyes should a curiosity only half satisfied.

“I am sorry, Alia!”

She laugh again taunting him, but Paul noticed that she was flushed.

She jumped from the bed, run across the room to open the door and disappear from his view. She still heard her say between the laughs: “Now I will gonna tell mom”!

He just couldn’t avoid smiling from her childish behavior.

After a moment he was worried. Could she tell what append to their mother?

Paul left his bedroom and walked throw the corridors until his mother’s quarters. The door was not locked. The quarters were immersed in darkness.

First he just heard a moan. Then another. And then the moans were rhythmic and constant. He moved slowly and in silence. All its senses awaken. Without any doubt the moans come from the bedroom, were some dim lights could be seen.

The last door was all opened and he could peek inside. The lights allowed him to see a couple in the bed making love. The man was completely naked, lied down with the woman on top. She was turned back to Paul, but he recognized instantly his mother, by her figure and her long reddish air. He couldn’t see the man’s face. He just could hear his grunts.

Jessica’s naked body moved with sensuality riding her lover in strong movements, up and down, allowing his male member to penetrate her completely until she would remove it a bit, then she would dance with her hips, in frenzy, one and another time before resuming the up and down. His lover’s hands cupped and squeezed her heavy breasts, cupped and squeezed and they were both breading heavy.

In his position, hidden in the dark, Paul could see the man’s penis in his continuous movement between his mother’s legs. When Jessica leaned forward her buttocks seemed to grow in size just before being caressed and squeezed by the man’s strong hands. Sometimes he would crush so much her bottoms that Paul could clearly see her pink butt hole and the man’s penis pushing, thrusting up into her.

They didn’t talk. They just grunted and moaned in a steady crescendo. It was as they were dancing their own music.

Paul needed to see who was the man laid down with his mother. He gave another step to the light when the man, with another grunt, raised his torso and begun to suckle Jessica’s large breasts.

Finally Paul could se his face.

He recognized his father. And it was both a sense of relief and envy.

At the same time he felt a hand in his hip.

“You should fall back a little…” whispered Alia “unless you want that they see you”.

“Alia! What are you doing here?” he murmured.

“Same as you, brother…”

He could clearly sense the amusement in her voice. Her body was pressed against him and her hand in his hip, rubbing it, was beginning to make him unease. He was excited but did want to hide it from her. And it was difficult since his breathing was increasing and her warm body continued to rub against him.

Meanwhile in the bed the lovers changed positions. Jessica was one her knees, with her head rested in a pillow and Leto was behind her. In each trusting movement her breasts bobbed freely until they were caught and grabbed again by his hands. She rose up and one of his hands went down to her vagina while the other insisted in handling her breasts and playing with her nipples.

The lovers seem to fight in the bed. They rolled over. Jessica moved on top again riding Leto and increasing the intensity of the movements. Her breasts bounced freely when they were not hold in Leto’s hands. They were in a position that Paul and Alia could clearly see the drops of sweat forming in Jessica’s cleavage and bellybutton as well as their father’s erect member deep penetrating her.

Paul wanted to touch himself. He needed it. But his sister’s presence hindered him even if with the corner of the eye he saw that his little sister had a hand moving slowly under her panties and that she increasingly needed to rely on his standing support.

In the bed there was a growing upsurge of passionate activity. The lovers were on the wedge, they couldn’t last much more. Their grunts and moist gummy sounds, their smell of sweat and sex flooded the room.

Leto was the first to explode. A couple of thrusts and his hands leaved Jessica’s body to fall inert in the bed. He was completely exhausted and dry. But Jessica was still on the wedge. Staying on top of him she continued her hip dancing movements, gaining even more friction, taking advantage of her lovers still erect member impaling her. Finally she screamed out and loud and felt smashing her breasts against Leto’s face, that still had strength to suckle, and covering all his head with her disheveled hair.

Paul was in ecstasies. He had never seen his mother in total abandonment, with a total lost of control. He just stared the naked couple abandoned in that quiet lethargy when his mother raised his head. She looked intensely with her bright green eyes to the place where he was with her sister. Her expression was indistinguishable. But the dark shadows covered them. Had she sensed them? Had she seen them? Had she heard them?

Finally Jessica, without letting Leto’s remove her member from her, pulled the sheets and covered her duke’s body and hers to get some sleep.

At Paul’s side, Alia’s body trembled and shaked before beginning to fall, like in soft dismay, her legs losing strength. He picked her up, caught her and carried her in her arms to her quarters. She had a quiet smile in her face. And had her eyes opened looking to him in a tender way.

Iphigenia was half-sleeping in Alia’s bed. Paul dropped quietly his sister in her bed near her wet nurse. Covered her with the sheets. Just before leaving the room he still saw Alia’s uncovering her wet nurse breast and beginning to suckle.

In silence, while Iphigenia breastfeed Alia, he lowered the wet nurse strap on the other side, exposing the other engorged beautiful breast, and slowly caressed the soft skin and the nipple with his hand until he saw a drop of milk. Only the consumption of spice allowed the wet nurse to breastfeed for so many years.

Alia slightly changed position and Iphigenia pushed him away covering herself.

He leaved her sister’s room. In that night brother and sister begun a voyeuristic ritual that would last until they leaved Caladan.


End file.
